


Relative conflict

by Anonymous



Category: Archer (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, Mild Gore, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 08:04:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11939862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Even the worst of enemies have to get along when the worlds odds are against them.





	Relative conflict

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time ever writing a work of sorts (and actually finishing one) so it's shoddy and cheesy at best. Apologies in advance for any OOC vibes, I'm still grasping the art of perfect character portrayal. Whether or not this is slash is also left up to the reader, I like to keep things open to individualistic perception, even with the plot! Not even I know where I go with my writing... Which in turn can be problematic in terms of continuity.. ALL the more reason to keep things open to the reader's mind!
> 
> I've been wildly apprehensive in terms of posting this due to my unhealthy self consciousness and fear of judgement (hence my reasoning for posting this anonymously), so I hope to see what kind of response this brings! Open judgement is gonna be quite the hurdle for me to cross, so for now I'll keep myself on the visible down low..
> 
> I truly hope reading this doesn't induce some form of instinctual disgust or fear..-- Enjoy?! ;;ಠ益ಠ;)

The only thing Cyril felt after the gunfire was a sharp throb somewhere by his stomach, followed by the scraping of his back as he slid down the brick wall. Keeping himself from pathetically falling on his hind end didn't seem like an option, so he let himself sink, it felt nice, which probably meant he was going into some sort of shock. What a shame...

He'd never been shot in the torso before, not counting the time Archer blasted him at point black range in the chest five times. HE HAD A VEST, of course. Though, Cyril didn't doubt for any second that Archer wouldn't hesitate to actually shoot him dead.

A sharp pain to his right cheek sent his face sideways, bringing Cyril back to reality. He tried to focus on what or who did that, groggily looking foreword to find none other than Archer's angry face WAY too close to his. He was saying something, along the lines of "hell... th you... idiot... elf killed." He didn't bother trying to figure out what any of that meant, his body felt like it was melting, he could feel his back slinking towards the ground, his chin beginning to rest on his chest, everything was going black. He didn't seem to mind. 

This entire mission went to shit. The team failed to find the map, Cyril gets separated from everyone, Ramirez and his goons start a shoot out with Lana and Ray, and of course, the bi-focally clad idiot Cyril manages to find the team again, only to get himself in the middle of said shootout, possibly trying to get Lana's attention, failing to fire a gun even with a two meter distance between him and Ramirez, and finally getting himself shot in the gut. This definitely pissed off Lana. Ray began chasing Ramirez down with a fury. The rest was a blur.

Now here Archer was, balling up his no longer to be clean ever again darker black turtleneck and pushing it against Cyril's gaping hole. The temptation to holler "phrasing" arose but he figured it wasn't the best of times to do so with his colleague bleeding out in front if him.

"Cyril! What the hell is wrong with you?! You can't stop being an idiot for like, 3 seconds, can you?! God, you could've gotten yourself killed!" Archer couldn't help but hear a twinge of concern in his own voice, which disgusted him slightly, but now he was just getting angry. Especially so when Cyril wouldn't stop drooping like pizza dough in his hands. At this point the only thing keeping Cyril up was Archer's furiously mad grip on his arm. 

"C'mon, you've been shot before, quit being such a kid.." When Cyril didn't answer him he pushed harder on his wound. That caused him to jolt up in pain and yelp. 

"Ggu-- rchr... you dckhole.. stopt.. please..?" Came out of the man, it sounded so pathetic, Archer twitched just the tiniest bit in empathy. "Nooope, not happening buddy. I just ruined a $200 turtleneck for you. The least you can do is stop trying to sleep, you drama queen." He finished with a quirk of his lips, thinking about all of those stupid soap operas with the damsels in distress fainting as they're caught in the arms of their beloved. Cheesy!!! ... Oh, right, Cyril.. We're focusing on Cyril.

He tried focusing on something other than the pain, which was excruciating now that he was a tad bit more awake. He could feel his face scrunching up in all types of weird shapes, he also couldn't seem to control the whines and tiny little yelps exiting his throat. He already thought of himself as pathetic. This? That's was rock bottom, for sure. Bleeding out and crying at the hands of your worst enemy, just after trying to help the team by apprehending some bimbo. He wanted to get over his fears so badly and his damn cockiness would take over and get him into more damn trouble. He knew he sucked, and every time he did something wrong, that feeling just became more and more prominent.

"Cyril-- seriously? It's a flesh wound, what the hell're you crying for?.. You're fine, okay?" he could hear Archer saying, his tone more neutral than his fuming self seconds ago. Cyril could feel his hand being picked up, only to be placed on his own wound. "Here, keep those guts inside you. I'm getting the jeep." He said, his voice now surprisingly soft in tone. Cyril wondered what triggered that change of mood, his mind slowly drifting. He held on to his stomach like it was being thieved by raccoons, every one of his breaths setting his diaphragm on fire. This wasn't his best day.. He couldn't even trust himself to stay awake, so clenching his fist into the blood soaked turtleneck, he pushed down, sending his body into a series of painful but awakening spasms. He deserved that. 

The team was already making its way back to HQ, after a car chase deliberately forced them away from their mission. Ramirez was long gone and Archer was left to pick up the pieces. Those pieces being a limp Cyril and that stupid good for nothing map. When he arrived with the jeep, he was pretty surprised to find Cyril still awake, albeit teary eyed, face moist.

" Still alive, Contessa?" Archer asked rhetorically, knowing he was very well living, also knowing Cyril probably had no clue who "Contessa" was. He was answered by a little moan, Cyril's eyes meeting his sluggishly. Ouch, that seemed tiring from his position on the floor. Guess that was his cue to meet Cyril at eye level, kneeling down in front of him. Getting a good look at him now, he definitely looked okay, besides the pouting and teary eyes. He must've gathered by now that Cyril was probably embarrassed by all this. What a kid...

"... Garhchr.." Was all Cyril managed to slur out when he saw that annoying face again. He was too tired to complain about him taking long to arrive with the jeep, or making dumb remarks, or referencing dumb T.V. show characters. He was just too tired. He felt his hand being batted away lightly from his wound, with new pressure being applied to it, sending Cyril into another wake of painful spasms. He had no adrenaline left in him, now it was all just pain...! This was all a damn nightmare!! At that thought he could feel the pressure lessen a bit." Cyril. You're okay, alright?" Nice lying skills, Archer. He of all people should know what being shot feels like. Cyril looked up at Archer, beads of sweat beginning to make his face all cold. Archer's brows furrowed in what looked like annoyance. Heh, he always managed to annoy Archer. "This isn't the worst of it anyway, still gotta stand up, otherwise I have no idea how you're getting in the car. I'm NOT carrying you bridal style. Not happening." The blood loss must've been taking a toll on him because Cyril was actually finding Archer's babbling to be quite soothing, putting him to sleep, like some poorly constructed lullaby. But, he was right, he had to stand up sooner or later if they wanted to get out of this damn place."Ghhh, ican try? Cn giveyour rm..." Shit, he meant, "I can try, can you give me your arm?" Failed miserably. Somehow the message got through to Archer because as soon as he said that, he could feel something moving just below his shoulders, an arm! Success! "Okay, on three." By the time he got to three, Cyril couldn't feel anything below his waist.

Cyril was definitely heavier than him. No question about it. So when he began slumping towards his chest in dead weight, why was he still so caught off guard? "Jesus Christ, Cyril, the very least you can do is, I dunno, preTEND to stand?!" He bit out with his trademark attitude, pulling Cyril up as vertically as he could. "Mmsrrey urcher, cnt feelm legs... Ghh, sht..." He ground out, sounding troubled. He then responded by shoving himself from Archer's grip, stomping about in an attempt to balance on his own. Archer watched him incredulously."Hey-- I didn't mean THAT. If you eat concrete it's your funeral, buddy." Archer said with a dismissive salt to his voice. He watched as Cyril, foot by foot, made his way to the jeep, Archer close behind him in case he tipped. Not that he cared, but he knew how much eating the concrete hurt, might as well prevent that. 

Cyril couldn't see in front of him from his eyes squinting in so much dumb pain. He knew this was stupid, but after all the bullshit life threw at him, this was the least he could do to feel something even mildly resembling accomplishment. His hand came in contact with the jeep's barring, and Cyril stopped, his form slouching more and more. Fuck, his face was wet again, since when did he start crying? And since when did he start falling?

Archer knew standing behind Cyril was a good idea when he saw him listing to the side. Before he could break his nose on the jeep, Archer was able to grab him, one arm around the front of his chest, the other on his back. "... How much blood did you lose, you idiot..?" He asked carefully. When he didn't get an answer, only a light sniff, he figured it made the most sense to just put him in the car already. 

All Cyril remembered was bumpy roads, waves after waves of nausea, and occasional warmth. The next few days were cold, clinical, and, well, nauseating again. He'd left the hospital just this morning and was back at work. Mallory had temporarily demoted Cyril back to "accountant", and that was that.. The day passed like what seemed like a minute and he was already packing his suitcase to go home. It sucked. It always sucked. You'd think pain would get you further in life and here you are, stuck as the person you always were, always will be, a damn disappointment. The only thing you'll ever be good at being.

A click of his office door spooked him of his internal dread. Oh, it was just Archer. What was it now...? " Hope I'm not interrupting your nightly existentialism" He said in his typically demeaning voice as he stalked his way in. He stopped short in front of Cyril, his face barely visible with the light in his office closed, the only lighting from the bullpen softly glowing by the doorway. That yellow, boring light. Twice this week, he was brought back into the moment, this time with a snapping finger in front of his face. "You in there?! Earth to Cyril!" When he finally focused halfheartedly on him, Archer met him with soft features. Very unlike him. "How's the hole?" Of course he had to say it like that. Somehow it still threw him off. "What-- it's, uh.. It's fine.." He managed, looking down disinterestedly. He just wanted to go home, after being ridiculed on his first day back by his peers, the damn bullet hole seemed like his only friend right now. Archer began again. "Okay, look, this is completely out of my comfort zone but I'm doing it anyway so just listen." What was this? An apology? This was gonna be goood....

He couldn't believe he was about to start this but his mouth was moving faster than he could think. He continued, a little faster in pace to get it over with. "Look, we don't get along. I know that. I make people like you feel like shit on purpose." Where was he going with this? At this point he was just letting himself say whatever popped up in his brain. He looked at Cyril for the first time since he helped get him on a stretcher after calling for an extraction. Somehow, he looked the same. Tired, worn, dull. He also had to witness a morphine drugged Cyril tell him all about how much he hated him because of how rude he tended to be, and how he only wanted to be part of the team by trying to help. It hit Archer in a weird way. So now he was trying to be the same by telling him how HE felt, which in the moment seemed like one of the most painful concepts to process. Now he had no choice but to continue... Great. "Look- what I'm saying is... I know-- I know I'm kind of an asshole. I instigate things and I have kind of a bad habit of being straight forward, which for some reason seems to trigger EVERYone. Hell, you know this about me already, you hate me more than anyone here. ... Probably more than my own mother." He waited for Cyril to respond but all he did was just... Look at him. That made him feel so much worse... He wasn't going to finish this...

As Archer spoke, much like a five year old who was forced to apologize to his younger brother for bullying him, he realized one thing. That's kind of what it was. In too many ways, Cyril always felt like he was just a less talented, younger (although not physically) version of him. The fact that his own self, metaphorically, hated him also said a lot. Cyril hated himself. HATES himself. Archer's just the person he wishes he could be. The person that could actually make people proud. Was-- was his face wet again?! Shit, this proves his point. But, he didn't seem to care. He could hear Archer and his attempt at an alright apology, but he didn't care. He just hated it. Everything.

Archer's apology slash eventual rant about soggy buttered popcorn trailed off when he once again began witnessing a teary Cyril, this time not bleeding to death, and this time, fully crying. Why did this keep happening? Was it him? He didn't know whether to leave or to keep talking. After a minute of Cyril making strange noises, eventually beginning to sob, he settled for something in the middle. Very slowly, he put a hand on Cyril's arm. Not comforting, but not nOT comforting. This was uncomfortable for HIM to say the least. Cyril twitched the tiniest bit and looked up at Archer in confusion. Archer tried his best to look nonchalant."You good?" Was all he managed to squeak in as much of a level tone of voice as he could. Somehow that made Cyril look sadder, as he ducked his head back down in glum. "Why the Hell are you even here....? Shouldn't you be with some woman getting buzzed at a bar or something..?" Cyril numbly said, his voice hard to hear with his head down. That response annoyed the Hell out of Archer, of COURSE he should be completely wasted at a bar (or as wasted as his high alcohol tolerance made him) right now, he'd just made the big mistake of following his gut and entering this damn room. "I- just wanted to apologize. For being a dick all the time. I mean, t's not like I'm going to change all of a sudden. I just-- I want you to know that I know I can be a bit.. Harsh." He said with the straightest voice, which surprised him because he actually felt sincere about his apology. Part of him felt bad, the other part of him was going through alcohol withdrawal. He's been trying to be as in the middle as possible right now, as awkward and uncomfortable as it was. Cyril spoke up with an equally sincere tone."... Why are you apologizing..? I have what's coming to me anyways. Like you said, your straight forward. I'm just as pathetic as you put me out to be." That really threw Archer off... To hear the words HE would normally say coming out of the VICTIM's mouth made them that much more potent. Now he actually felt bad... He let out a big sigh as his instincts kicked in. "C'mon, don't say that kinda shit." He closed the distance between them, pulling Cyril, still mindful of his wound, into a mild embrace. He couldn't believe he was doing this, neither could Cyril, his face was in the stupidest expression. Archer was unfamiliar and awkward with hugs, he couldn't figure out where to put his arms, so he just settled for both of them lightly around his back. This was uncomfortable. This entire evening was uncomfortable! Why was he DOING this?!

Cyril was tired. Archer was warm. Tired, warm, all that asked for was some sleep. Before that could happen though, Archer spoke. "I hope this isn't traumatizing you. I'm definitely traumatizing myself" He mumbled. Cyril could feel his body vibrate with every word, crap that made him even more tired. His head was beginning to fade a bit, but he wouldn't simply sleep here. He doesn't need Archer to carry his dead weight again. "Then you can stop hugging me." Cyril replied, the attitude to his words seeming feigned. His face was dry, since when did he stop crying? He couldn't remember, but he was relieved.

Archer and Cyril remained like that for about a minute, the dim light not making it any easier for Cyril's steadily drifting consciousness. They parted, Archer's hand still lightly holding one of Cyril's arms. "The Hell was that for? You don't hug people." Cyril asked, uncertain and low. That was Archer's cue to let go of his arm, his face getting unnoticably red. "Don't ask questions you can't get answers to, Cyril. I have no idea why I did that. I just- did.." It took all of his brain power to say that. Now he knew he was certain the first time he thought coming in here was one big ass mistake, his face felt like it was on fire. He'd rather be shot than embarrass himself.

Today'd been fruitful. Cyril had come to work straight after leaving the hospital, only to be bullied by his peers like a kid on their first day of school, then he's awkwardly comforted by what used to be thought of as his worst enemy, what else could happen today? "I'm heading out" Archer blurted. He needed to get out of here, the only thing saving him from red faced embarrassment was how dark this office was. In his scramble for new words to put in his mouth, his brain tripped. "You came here from the ambulance today, right? Come with, I'll drive you home." ... DID HE JUST SAY THAT?! .. Archer was starting to believe he was truly losing it. All of this mushy crap was getting into his head, and now he was treating Cyril like he's his-- his friend..? .. Huh, in his head it didn't seem like the worst idea in the world.. Cyril just looked at him, surprised. "What, really?... I uh-- I mean.. sure. Okay." Great, now Cyril was feeling uncomfortable, too. At the very least, and much to Archer's equal surprise, his response was void of any disdain. It wasn't "Fuck off" or "What, so you can throw me onto the curb?" But just a "Sure", as wiggly and awkward as it came out. Archer got the point. "Alright, let's go! Woo, road triiiip!!!" He yelled jokingly down the hall, quickly making his way to the elevator. Cyril followed along, letting out a nervous but happy "Hell yeah..!". This drive probably wasn't going to be a one stop trip.

End

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there it is. Hope it suffices as okay work material.. It's definitely not without its faults.
> 
> Drop some comments and criticism down there, I'd like to see how horribly I did! 
> 
> I'll get better soon, maybe not idk, practice makes panini's 
> 
> BLAUUUGHH


End file.
